


blood cells pixelate

by curtwen



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29458068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtwen/pseuds/curtwen
Summary: Dennis is a God.Dennis is a perfect, superior being, high above the mongrels of his school - and Dennis is sitting, crying and shaking, on his bathroom floor, and he is broken.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	blood cells pixelate

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a short ventfic using dennis as projection lol but i hope its enjoyable regardless!
> 
> warning for referenced self harm; its not in depth or anything but it is there so err with caution!

Dennis is a God.

Dennis is superior, a higher being, a perfect specimen so far above the rest of the pathetic, sleazy mongrels of his school.

Dennis repeats this to himself, over and over like a mantra, as he shakes on the floor of his bathroom with his hands on his ears, eyes squeezed shut so tightly he could see spots, with pretty, bright red leaking from his perfect skin onto his clothes and his floor.

He’s not sure how long he’s been there, really. Time stretches on and out, yet also feels like it fizzles away and disappears all at once. He doesn’t know how long remains until Mac arrives, bright and happy and carefree, and Dennis will have to scream at his mother not to let him in because right then, huddled in a ball on cold, bloody tile, Dennis is broken glass, sharp and ugly, and he can never let Mac see him this way.

Not like he wasn’t aware Dennis is flawed, though. Mac had seen him break before; he had seen the cracks and the shards and the times when his charming mask slipped away, when Dennis was scared and vulnerable. But those times weren’t Dennis. Those times didn’t represent him, and he has to ensure Mac knows that.

But when his hands slip off his ears, and he hears the door open and the sounds of two familiar voices talking there, and he’s acutely aware it’s Mac and his mom swapping awkward pleasantries, he doesn’t scream.

Mac stomps up his staircase, just the way he always does. Mac knocks on his door, and calls inside the same greeting as always, “Hey-o, Dennis!” Mac waits, a solid five seconds, and then he opens the door, looks around for Dennis in the same spots he’s always in. “Dennis?” Mac calls out, and his voice is a little dejected. Mac’s footsteps come to a stop.

Mac has noticed the bathroom door, almost closed save for a small crack that left it ominously ajar.

“Dennis?” he says, quiet, his voice rising in pitch. Dennis doesn’t move, can’t answer. His breath is caught in his throat, cold, threatening to choke him down. He swallows it with his tears.

The door creaks open, and Mac lets out a shrill noise. He drops to Dennis’ side immediately and he’s panicking, talking, freaking out all because of him but Dennis’ head is swimming and none of the words reach his ears.

His bathroom shelves are raided and emptied, and Dennis is in a dreamlike state as Mac washes his skin clean and bandages the many wounds lining his forearm. He doesn’t hear the words pouring out of Mac’s mouth, all worry and pity; he doesn’t feel the way Mac hoists him up off the dirtied floor and up securely into his arms; he doesn’t feel Mac cautiously helping pull his bloody shirt off to replace; he doesn’t feel the fresh, clean shirt draped on his skin; he doesn’t feel the bed he’s led to and set to rest upon; he doesn’t feel any of it.

The bed sinks as Mac lays down next to him, arms immediately encasing him. His head falls into Mac’s chest, and he feels nothing. Dennis blinks, slowly returns the hug and presses Mac closer, tears still slowly falling from his eyes. “Mac,” he murmurs, voice shaky.

“Yeah, Den? What is it?” Mac is just as quiet, and his breath is overwhelmingly hot.

“Th-This doesn’t - this isn’t me,” he insists. It comes out more like a cry. “This isn’t who I am, Mac, I’m not fucked up.”

“I know, man,” Mac replies softly, running his hand through Dennis’ hair. He can feel it, and the sensation brings him over the edge.

Dennis starts sobbing loudly, his fists balling up in Mac’s shirt, and Mac lets him cry. Dennis is a lowly, broken mess, and Mac holds tightly and lovingly on to him as if he were a precious jewel.

He doesn’t know how much time passes there, either, locked in Mac’s warm arms, letting everything flow out of him like a waterfall from his eyes. Not once does Mac complain, instead whispering soft reassurances whenever Dennis mumbles out a plea. Mac is patient, and safe, and smart. Mac makes the pain in his arm and his heart and his brain go away. Mac is everything in the world, everything that matters.

They drift asleep that way in Dennis’ bed, and Mac is going to be scolded by his mother for not coming home that night, and Dee will make some comment about how gross and gay they are, and Dennis’ mom will stick up her nose when she has to take Mac to school with the twins in the morning, but neither of them care. In that moment, they have each other, and they are the world.


End file.
